


Next Thing, We're Touching

by blacktofade



Category: Psych
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-10
Updated: 2010-07-10
Packaged: 2017-10-24 18:26:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/266523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blacktofade/pseuds/blacktofade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Shawn is unexpectedly pliant under him, making small noises that Carlton takes as encouragement.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Next Thing, We're Touching

Shawn is unexpectedly pliant under him, making small noises that Carlton takes as encouragement. Shawn breathes hard and harsh into his ear, the air hot and wet against Carlton's skin. He can't quite hang onto Shawn's hips as the other man twists and rolls his body, but he slips his fingers into the belt loops on Shawn's jeans and holds him still.

Warm hands tug the tails of his shirt out of his pants then slide under the material, pressing and pinching the smooth flesh of Carlton’s back with greedy touches. Carlton can’t seem to keep up, but he refuses to take a backseat to Shawn, not when his whole career exists as such. This time he’s calling shotgun. He finds the hem of Shawn’s t-shirt and pulls it up briskly, ignoring the sharp sound of surprise as the move forces Shawn to raise his arms. The shirt disappears with a flick of Carlton’s wrist and Shawn peers up at him, his hair irresistibly askew, his lips bruised and reddened. Carlton runs his palms over Shawn’s stomach and scrapes his fingernails against the skin, leaving angry red marks for him to swipe his thumb over and draw another noise from Shawn. It’s just too easy.

Shawn’s jeans are open, the topmost button missing and zipper broken from their haste in undressing. Shawn had pressed his shoulders back into the mattress and lifted his hips, offering himself to Carlton, whose hands hadn’t been still enough to deal with buttons or zippers, so he’d tugged and pulled Shawn’s jeans, unfastening them with force alone. Shawn hadn’t complained, had just let out a loud exhale and gripped the bed sheets so tightly Carlton had felt the comforter move underneath his knees.

Carlton can feel the heat of Shawn through the denim, can feel the way Shawn presses into his inner thigh as though he’s always meant to be there. He doesn’t give Shawn the satisfaction of slipping his hand down the front of his pants, just traces his fingertips across the hollows of his hips and appreciates the way Shawn responds, canting upwards, the need visible on his face. He’s wrecked before Carlton has even started.

He trails his nose across the skin of Shawn’s throat, feeling the way it moves when Shawn swallows and when he gently groans Carlton’s name. His tongue laves under Shawn’s chin, sliding wetly across day-old stubble and picking up hints of sweat, new and old. He nips at the edge of Shawn’s jaw and watches as Shawn’s mouth falls open; he holds back, though he wants nothing more than to bite promises of what he’s going to do to Shawn into the flesh of his lower lip. Shawn’s eyes follow his every movement, from the way he shifts on his knees and sits back on Shawn’s thighs, to the way he peels down the waistband of Shawn’s jeans until they slide down enough so all that separates Carlton’s hand from Shawn’s cock is the thin material of boxers.

Carlton slips his hand into the front of Shawn’s underwear and grips him loosely.

Even that is enough to get Shawn to throw his arms above his head, wind his fingers around the bars of the headboard, and buck into his palm. Carlton has never had someone so needy and responsive between his legs, but Shawn is a first of many things for him. He can hear the bed creak as Shawn tightens his grip when Carlton begins to stroke lightly.

“Lass – Lassie,” Shawn pleads his head thrown back, sweat-sheened neck bared in the low light of the room.

Twitching, nimble fingers let go of the headboard and move to tangle in Carlton’s tie. In a matter of seconds, it’s undone and whipping around his neck to fall to rest on the floor beside Shawn’s button-up. Shawn slowly works his way down the front of Carlton’s shirt, unbuttoning it in intervals, which are broken up as he clutches at the material and hisses out curses each time Carlton curls his wrist and tightens his grip. He finally pushes it off Carlton’s shoulders, but instead of pulling it off completely, he grabs Carlton by the biceps and feels the way the muscles move under his skin.

Carlton briefly wonders what Shawn is imagining; whether he sees Carlton lifting him up and pushing him back into a wall before grinding against the length of his body, or if he pictures himself pushed facedown over Carlton’s desk, while Carlton pushes roughly into him. Whatever it is, it makes Shawn’s face crumple in pleasure and Carlton feels the dampness of precome across his palm. As a small mercy, Carlton lets Shawn go and takes a moment to remove the shirt himself, tugging at the cuffs and balling it up before tossing it behind his back blindly.

Shawn wets his lips, slips a hand behind Carlton’s neck, and draws him down to his mouth, looking every bit the temptation of man. Carlton cannot resist, finds himself with Shawn’s taste in his mouth again, a tongue swiping along the edges of his teeth. Nails drag along his spine before hands wrap around his shoulder blades and pull their chests flush. Carlton can feel Shawn’s heart fluttering madly behind ribs that protect it and keep it safe, and he can’t help but think _I’m the one that’s doing that to him_.

He shifts downwards, pressing their hips together and rubbing against Shawn’s barely covered cock. He knows the material of his slacks must be driving Shawn half mad. He doesn’t stop.

Shawn is mumbling something into his mouth, words that don’t even belong together, ridiculous babble, and Carlton knows he has him right where he wants him. Leaning on one elbow, he pushes Shawn’s boxers down until they’re far enough along his thighs that his erection bobs free. Shawn stops talking nonsense and makes mindless noises instead.

Shawn slips his hands down and pushes at his own pants, fingers trembling enough that Carlton can feel them brush against his inner thighs. Shawn groans, his forehead scrunching, and Carlton finally catches on. He pulls away completely, sitting on his heels and watching as Shawn pulls his knees towards his chest and pushes his feet into Carlton’s chest, toes wriggling under his socks. With a quick tug, Carlton pulls Shawn’s boxers and jeans down to his ankles and Shawn easily kicks them away, letting them slide over the edge of the mattress and onto the carpet.

Slowly, Shawn spreads his legs, placing his feet flat on the comforter either side of where Carlton sits. Carlton knows the flush that colours Shawn’s cheeks is not out of shame. Moving forwards, Carlton runs his hands up along Shawn’s legs, feeling lean muscle tensing under his palms. When he reaches Shawn’s hips, he grips tightly and hitches his waist up until he can grind into Shawn’s ass, drawing a choked off cry from him as he does so.

Shawn’s fingers grapple at his belt, nails scratching along leather and scraping over the metal buckle. Carlton lets him unfasten it, lets him slip it out of the belt loops, and lets him chuck it across the room, which Shawn does, seemingly uncaring of what it might break or dent in the process. Carlton doesn’t feel him unbutton or unzip anything, but Shawn’s hands slip inside his open pants, nevertheless, with an apparently practiced quickness.

Carlton bites his tongue to stop from moaning, but it’s still there in his throat, like a breath he forgot to take.

Shawn touches and strokes and rubs in all the right ways, as though he already knows what Carlton wants, but Carlton doesn’t even care if he’s using his so-called psychic abilities right now, as long as he doesn’t stop doing that thing with his thumb along the underside of his cock.

He grinds down and grips the bedcovers as his world starts to fall apart and his vision narrows down until all he can see is Shawn staring right back at him.

Shawn suddenly lets him go and pushes Carlton’s hips back, putting distance between them. He reaches over into the middle drawer of the bedstand and, without looking, removes a bottle of lube, one that’s half used with a crack in the lid. He runs his tongue over his bottom lip and Carlton leans down as though to kiss him. He stops millimetres away and Shawn’s mouth opens in anticipation.

Carlton leaves him waiting, with a gentle smirk that pushes realisation onto Shawn’s face; two can play a game of tease.

Shawn apparently concedes, as he lifts himself up with his shoulder blades, closing the final distance and pushing their lips together.

“Condoms are in the bathroom,” he breathes into Carlton’s mouth. “But I’m clean, I swear, I’m clean.”

Carlton runs a hand along the back of Shawn’s thigh and it’s tempting, so, so, tempting. He turns his head, exhales frustration against Shawn’s jaw line, then sits up. He tugs his underwear and pants back up, and holds them in place with one hand as he moves backwards off the bed, stands, then strides to the bathroom opposite them.

The light is blinding as he switches it on, his eyes accustomed only to the gentle orange glow of the bedroom. He quickly opens the medicine cabinet, noting the creaking of its hinges, and rifles through Shawn’s toiletries. He finds a pack of gum, a pair of sunglasses, and coffee mug before he notices the Trojan box in the back, which he pulls out before slamming the door closed. He flicks the light off and moves back to the bedroom, the head of his erection rubbing uncomfortably against the inside of his pants.

Standing in the doorway, he finds Shawn on the bed, thrusting three slicked fingers into himself, his chest shining with sweat and hair in every direction. Carlton almost drops the condoms.

Shawn has his eyes closed, but when Carlton lets out a noise that he knows isn’t exactly dignified, but can’t quite help, they open lazily and lock onto him.

“Took your time,” he says, fingers still moving in and out of his body.

“I was two seconds.”

“Like I said,” Shawn grinds out around a moan and Carlton can’t take much more. It’s when Shawn pulls his fingers out, giving Carlton a clear view of where he’s wet and open that he finally snaps.

He tosses the condoms to Shawn – who catches the box in one hand – and quickly drops his pants and underwear to the floor, stepping out of them with eagerness he’s never felt before. This is all so new to him, but when Shawn reaches out for him and he slips back between two lean legs, it feels as though they’ve done this a hundred times before.

Deft fingers roll a condom onto his erection, while a slick palm follows after, spreading lube that’s already been inside of Shawn across the latex. Curling his legs around Carlton’s waist, Shawn digs his heels into the backs of his thighs and drags him closer until all Carlton can see, smell, touch, and taste is Shawn.

The heat inside Shawn seems to be never ending as Carlton pushes into him slowly. He lets Shawn set the pace until he’s resting within him fully, then he takes a hold of Shawn’s wrists, pins them over his head on the duvet, and takes back control. With a thrust of his hips, he has Shawn rutting upwards and opening his knees wider; with a flick of his tongue, he has Shawn murmuring encouragement against his lips and releasing soft noises barely audible above the sound of their bodies sliding together.

Shawn doesn’t even struggle against his grip, just lies back and lets Carlton hold him down; Carlton wishes it were this easy all the time.

He shifts his hips, angling them down and pushing deeper, and Shawn lets out a half-muffled cry. Carlton doesn’t stop, keeps pressing against the same spot inside Shawn until Shawn suddenly comes in the space between their stomachs, sticking them together and slicking Carlton’s movements even more.

“I don’t – you – not usually that fast – oh god,” Shawn babbles, as though Carlton’s meant to care. Instead of responding, Carlton just keeps moving and sliding and pressing harder into Shawn, taking his time and feeling the slow build of an orgasm low in his belly.

Shawn tries to shift away and Carlton knows his sensitised body must be on overload, but he continues to pin him down and leans forward to bury his nose in the edge of Shawn’s hair. He swipes his tongue along the shell of his ear and bites down gently, earning a blended hiss and moan, and the noise is just enough, sends a spike of need down Carlton’s spine and makes his cock twitch.

He quickens the pace, his thrusts shallow, but even, and Shawn turns his head and trails his nose along his cheek until it brushes his own. Their lips drag together, but it’s not what Carlton’s expecting; it’s light and chaste, but filled with more passion than any kiss he’s received so far. He returns it, tightening his palms around Shawn’s wrists and rocking into him as he finally comes, needing nothing more than Shawn’s tongue to guide him through.

As their bodies slow to a halt, it becomes unnaturally silent. Shawn breathes heavily underneath him, his eyes closed, but he says nothing, not even when Carlton lets his arms go and slips out of him, sitting back on his heels and letting Shawn’s legs drop to his sides. For a moment, he wonders if he should just leave, but then, out of nowhere, a hand wraps around his elbow and tugs him forward. Shawn regards him, his face still flushed and shining with sweat, and Carlton feels unnerved. Post-orgasm is never as much fun as pre-orgasm.

“Let go,” he tells Shawn carefully, not quite meeting his eye. Shawn does as asked and slips both hands behind his head, interlinking his fingers, and forming a pillow with his palms. He looks relaxed and completely satiated.

Carlton pushes himself off the bed and walks back to the bathroom to dispose of the condom in the trashcan next to the toilet. He stops and looks at himself in the mirror, using his fingers to try to flatten his mussed hair, but if anything, it just makes it worse. He sighs and gives up. He should dress and leave, he thinks, as goosebumps begin to break out across his skin. He rubs his face, hating – and loving – the way his hands smell completely of Shawn and steps into the bedroom again.

Shawn is under the covers, his bedside lamp switched off, leaving only one light lit: the one on the opposite side of the bed. The sheets are turned down in obvious invitation and he stands there for a second before Shawn’s voice rings out.

“I had a vision,” he mumbles, his voice heavy with sleep, “you’d better climb in. You don’t want to know what will happen if you don’t.”

Carlton still doesn’t believe in that psychic nonsense, but he walks to the bed and slips in alongside Shawn nevertheless.


End file.
